The Long Road
by Still of the Night
Summary: The conclusion to a young girl's mission is surprising, to her - it has changed her life, and whether that be for better or worse depends upon her actions going forward. (Working summary. I'm horrible at writing them. Rated T for mild language, probably won't have a reason to bump it up.)
1. APB

Today, the wind blew hard. It made the mid-November evening feel degrees colder than it should've been. It caught the edge of a thin, green cotton jacket, swept beneath it. It sent shivers through the girl walking along the side of the empty highway, and slowed the progress of her canvas-clad feet as the chill bit through the red material. She hadn't dressed for this weather; desert winters were fairly mild most years, warranting only a light jacket or a thin coat, at most. She had brought with her what she thought she would need. It didn't occur to her that, perhaps, winters in Wyoming were a little harsher.

In addition to that, she couldn't help but wonder if this road ever ended. If it ever led to anything. The pale asphalt seemed to stretch on endlessly in both directions; it was hard to tell how long she'd been on it. The bitter thought that the old, kindly woman at that rest stop twenty-some miles back could have lied to her had crossed her mind—it wouldn't be the first time on this fifteen-day journey that she might've been fed misinformation. And what an awful thought that was to have.

 _This was not a great idea,_ chimed her thoughts unhelpfully. She had already realized this, many days ago, but it didn't stop her from constantly reminding herself. In a moment of weakness, she almost dared to remember the warmth of the home she had left. The comfort of her bed, the softness of her hand-crocheted blanket. The laughter of her young half-siblings. The way the house always smelled like apple cider. But she didn't – _couldn't_. As much as she hated to do so, she pushed each of those thoughts out just as quickly as they'd come. _Just one foot in front of the other, Neha. You'll be alright._

A low hum broke the silence, cut through the harsh whistle of the wind and the crunching of dirt and gravel. It steadily grew louder, graduating into a deep grumble, until Neha could make out, coming up behind her, bright lights and a splotchy white and red shape. Struggling to see through the blinding haze of the headlights, she finally made out what it was: an old white Bronco, bearing a thick red stripe down the side. It wasn't until she stuck her thumb out and watched it pass that she saw the large star emblazoned on the side, and the peeling decal which read SHERIFF, in plain script. As it pulled onto the shoulder of the road just ahead, she sighed, suddenly more exhausted than she'd felt in days. With legs as heavy as lead, she made her way to the driver's-side window, keeping her eyes firmly planted on the ground as her mind worked overtime to come up with a convincing lie to explain why she was out here, and what she was doing. The SUV's window was loud and rattled as it rolled down, and as she finally approached, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a cowboy hat looked out at her, his weathered and wrinkled face blank.

Feeling her nerves begin to fray, she forced a tight smile onto her lips. "Hello, officer. Nice night for a walk, isn't it?" Silence. Not so much as a smile. Clearing her throat, she continued. "Where're you headed?"

The man stared a while, causing her to fidget. "Durant. You lookin' for a ride?" His voice was almost as rough as his face, and accented.

"Yes, sir."

He nodded. She caught a glimpse of the tiniest smirk on his face as he spoke next. "You aware that hitchhiking is illegal in the state of Wyoming?" He almost sounded amused—this tone drew a few beads of cold sweat out of her face. Licking her chapped lips, she rubbed her eyebrow with the tip of her thumb.

"No, sir. I'd worried, but I wasn't sure." Trying to swallow the rapidly developing lump in her throat, she adjusted the straps of the backpack thrown over her shoulders. The growing silence seemed to thicken the air; it was hard to breathe, and she could feel more itching sweat prickle beneath her skin. That hard, scrutinizing gaze never left her face, until, finally, it did.

"Alright. Get in. I'll take you up to Durant." Leaning over, he depressed the passenger-side lock. Neha quickly jogged around, climbing into the old SUV with some effort – it was somewhat of a stretch. Throwing her pack to the floor, she breathed a huge sigh of relief, both for finally sitting down, and getting away from that intimidating stare. The man – presumably, the sheriff – shifted into gear and started off down the road again, dull, twangy country music playing faintly over the radio. Allowing herself a moment to relax against the stiff, red leather seat, she took a moment to formulate her next sentence. Not well, albeit.

"So long as you don't intend to kill me," she began, rubbing some warmth into her hands, "I appreciate this. I wasn't sure I'd ever see anyone drive past, let alone _stop_." He glanced over at her, though she didn't notice.

"Where did you come from?"

The question made her tense up again. Hoping her change in demeanor hadn't been detected, she pursed her lips and shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Down south," she replied, vaguely as she could. "I'm looking to start over." The sheriff looked at her squarely this time, his eyes squinting.

"Start over?" Looking to the road, he corrected his veering path before taking another look at his young passenger. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen." She answered a little too quickly, she realized. Not that it was a particularly massive lie; she was seventeen. After a moment of consideration, the sheriff shook his head.

"Can't imagine a kid having much need to start over. I'd say your life's barely begun as it is." The skeptical tone in his voice made her feel suddenly uncomfortable, and she felt the need to shift around in the seat beside him.

"To tell you the truth," she began, sighing. "I'm out here looking for somebody."

"What kind of somebody?"

"My- er… a relative somebody. A cousin. My cousin." She stumbled awkwardly over her words, earning herself a sidelong glance from the older man, who raised his eyebrows.

"Coming all the way up here from 'down south' just to look for a cousin, huh? Must be pretty important business." She nodded, and he continued. "You got a name? I might be able to pull a few strings; help you find 'em."

She glossed over his question. "You have special connections or something?" He chuckled.

"Guess you could say that, being that I'm the sheriff up in Absaroka County." _Right_. Feeling more reserved now, she nodded, nervously pressing her palms into her jeans. She'd already forgotten the emblem on the side of the Bronco. "Does that make you nervous?" he asked, once again fixing her with that scrutinizing gaze. She could only shrink into the seat.

"A bit. Uh… nothing personal. The local police, back home – they liked to take the law into their own hands. A lot of good men suffered for it." True, but not her honest reason. He nodded, and she thanked her lucky stars that he seemed to buy it. They were getting closer now to what she assumed was Durant; the lights of the town were plainly visible on the horizon.

"What's your name then, kid?" She had foolishly hoped he wouldn't ask. Thinking on the fly, she dropped her first name, opting to use her English middle and last names.

"Anne Locklear."

"Walt Longmire. Good to meet you." He lifted his right hand off the steering wheel and offered it to her. Warily, she shook it.

"Nice to meet you, too."

* * *

The rest of the drive was spent in silence, save for the harsh wind whipping past the windows and the sound of some country boy on the radio singing about heartbreak and beer. They finally hit town after a while, and the pace of the Bronco slowed significantly. Lounging an elbow on the open windowsill, Walt waved to people as he drove past. Surely, none of them missed Neha trying to melt into the passenger seat. Trying to hide was a bit silly, she knew; worst case scenario, people would assume she was some kind of troubled child, being escorted. But you can never be too careful. After a while longer, they pulled up to the Sheriff's Department.

"Here we are." Cutting the engine, he slid out of the vehicle. The entire SUV shook a bit as he pushed the door shut. Nervous, Neha followed suit, shrugging her pack onto her shoulders as she clumsily stepped down out of the Bronco. Walt held the door to the building open for her, and she followed him up the set of stairs they were immediately faced with, then toward one of the doors along the side wall.

"Oh, you pick up a stray, Walt?" came a rather rich and aged woman's voice, immediately after the situation had been assessed. Neha broke into another cold sweat as she felt multiple sets of eyes landing on her, and that lump planted itself firmly in her throat once more. She felt childish, trying to hide herself behind Longmire, but it was an instinct she didn't want to fight.

"Found 'er along the highway coming back. Says she's out here looking for a cousin of hers."

"Ah, one of those." A brunette man stood up, leaned against his desk. From her position partially hidden behind the sheriff, Neha could see that the man wore a slight smile. He was one of those _pretty_ men she had heard about. "Jeez. They look younger and younger these days. What's your name, kid?"

"Uh… Anne."

"Where are your parents, Anne?" A bit annoyed that her escort wasn't assisting her, and very uncomfortable with the amount of attention she was getting, she sighed, a rather huffy, childish noise.

"Arizona. Navajo reservation."

"Ah, so you're a Navajo, huh?"

"No, sir. Cheyenne." The man's eyebrows furrowed, but thankfully – _finally_ – he wasn't given much time to respond.

"Okay, Branch. If you're done, I'm gonna help this girl find who she's looking for." Tentatively, the brunette man nodded, going back to his business at the desk he was lounging against. "Alright – if you'll come with me to my office, Anne." The name sounded so foreign and weird to Neha, though she'd grown up with it. Nodding, she allowed the man to urge her with one hand in the right direction as he passed, and followed him through another set of doors.

"Go ahead and sit," he said, dropping into his own chair. She complied. Adjusting his hat, Longmire leaned forward, elbows on the desk, as he regarded the young girl in front of him. "So, why are you looking for this person?"

"Personal reasons, sir. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not say." She stared at her hands as she picked a bit of dirt from under her nails, and so she didn't see the way the sheriff's eyebrows drew together. Still, she sensed that he grew somewhat more suspicious of her.

"… Alright. Are you planning on doing any harm to this person? Just a precaution." Still looking down, she shook her head. This gesture earned her a sigh. "Let's start with a name, then." Neha breathed in shakily, shifting uncomfortably in the squeaky metal chair. She worked on another lie, another deflection, but stopped short when a knock came at the door, and it opened. The sheriff sighed at the appearance of the hefty man who filled its place. "What is it, Ferg?"

"Sorry, sir. We've just gotten an APB in. You… may want to take a look at it."

"Can it wait?"

"I… no, I don't think so, sir." Frowning, Walt stood and excused himself. He followed the other man out, but left the door cracked. Neha couldn't help but overhear. Snippets of conversation; mostly all nonsense.

" _Missing girl, huh? Seventeen…_ " Silence. Total radio silence.

" _Sir… that's the girl sitting in your office._ " Clear as a bell. Neha's breath caught in her throat, her pulse suddenly jumping several beats per minute – per second. She found herself shaking. She couldn't, _could_ _ **not**_ wait around to see how this played out. She quickly fixed her bag properly on her shoulders and stood, bolting through the side door and through a bathroom. Taking the stairs two at a time, she'd only just heard the sheriff yelling at her to wait when she busted through the front doors. Backpack thumping uncomfortably against her back with every step, hair coming loose from its braid, she kept running, stopping for nothing. Plenty of people stared, she knew for certain, but nobody stopped her. Finally, after turning a corner into a fairly desolate part of town, she found a narrow alley between a restaurant and a loan office and fell behind a dumpster. Sliding her backpack off, she hugged it, and tried to make herself as small as possible.

At least a dozen vehicles passed over the course of the next half-hour, but if any of them stopped, none of the inhabitants slid down the alleyway to disturb her. Soon – eventually, somehow, despite the immense stench of her surroundings – she fell asleep.

* * *

 **A/N:** Chapter one, new and improved. Once again, I will state that I originally started writing this for my own enjoyment, but I decided to upload it to see how it would be received.

Feel free to review. I'm always looking for constructive criticism and feedback.


	2. The Red Pony

Slowly, her consciousness began to return, to the sound of a heavy door slamming shut. Footsteps. Muffled static chatter. Jostling. Struggling to open her eyes, Neha had to blink several times to clear the thick fog settled over her vision. Everything was dark, and it took her eyes a second to adjust. When they did, she found herself looking straight into the face of one Sheriff Walt Longmire. Suspended in a moment of panic, she felt her fight-or-flight response kick in. She thrashed a bit, struggling to get to her feet, and despite the strong hands pressing down on her shoulders to keep her in place, she got free.

"Wait- calm down!" _**THUD.**_

A slimy piece of newspaper flew up into the air, and Neha found herself flat on her stomach. Deflated, and trying to catch her breath, she had no choice but to let herself be hauled to her feet, and into the white and red bronco parked along the side of the street. Her backpack was thrown to the floorboard, door shut and locked from the outside. In her wiry post-sleep haze, it didn't cross her mind that she could simply reach over and unlock the door from the inside. Not a whole lot crossed her mind, actually, as she stared off at nothing in particular. Longmire climbed into the driver's seat, and though he stared at her, the cab of the old SUV was silent for a while.

"Why the lies?" he finally asked, after Neha had been allowed to stew, and wake up somewhat. Her voice was still groggy with her bout of bad sleep as she replied.

"I think the APB should speak for itself. Don't you?"

The sheriff's eyes practically bore a hole into her head. Breathing steadily, he laid his elbow on the windowsill and shrugged. "Sure. Doesn't explain why you're missing, though."

Sighing, Neha shook her head. "I left. Which is probably… obvious, at this point. But I can't go back. Not yet. Not until I've done this."

"Alright, now – regarding this cousin of yours. I'll help you find 'em. We've just gotta go back to the station and go through the steps."

"No; I don't need your help. I can do this on my own."

"I wasn't asking." She looked up just in time to see him settle her with a stern gaze, as though she were a misbehaving child. Starting up the SUV with minimal difficulty, he made a wide U-turn and set off down the road. The clock on the dashboard read 9:18. This rather threw Neha for a loop, as it had still been daylight when she fell asleep. She addressed this.

"Were you looking for me all this time?" she asked, fixing her eyes on passing buildings and streetlamps, instead of the sheriff.

"Not the entire time," he admitted, yawning. She waited for him to elaborate. He didn't. Clearing her throat, she tried to change the subject.

"Why are you offering to help? The police where I live would've just turned me over to the proper authorities by now. I'm just a runaway." The older man stayed silent for a while, his face completely unreadable when she turned to look. One of his fingers drummed against the red leather of the steering wheel.

"Let's just say that I understand having a mission." He leaned one arm against the windowsill, glancing over at his passenger. "But I _will_ need your parents' – or your legal guardian's – contact information when we get to the station. Make no mistake about that." _Great_. Huffing, Neha slumped back in her seat, watching the scenery of town fly by her window.

 _Should've waited_ , her thoughts commented. _A few more months and you could've looked for him without all this legal hassle. Great job, Neha_. With a frown, she mentally reprimanded herself for making such a stupid, rash decision, but stayed otherwise silent as the loud Bronco closed the relatively short distance between her previous hiding spot and the station. Parking rather haphazardly, the sheriff cut the engine and gestured for her to unlock the passenger-side door.

 _Here we go again._

* * *

The station looked different at night. Service hours were long past, which meant the building was dark, save for the desk lamps casting a dull orange glow over the front room. It was strange. Made her feel like she wasn't supposed to be there.

"You can sleep here tonight," Longmire said, adjusting his hat.

 _Sleep_? "What – are there rooms, or something?" The sheriff's lips twitched, and with a nod of his head, he gestured to the short row of cells lining one wall. This took a moment of processing. "You… want me to sleep in a jail cell?"

"I guess it's up to you whether you'll be sleeping someplace warm and safe, or cold and dangerous."

Neha sighed. "When you put it that way…" Shaking her head, she walked to the first cell, examined it. It was… pretty bare. Nothing on the walls – or, rather, _wall_ – though that was a given, she supposed. It only housed a metal-frame bed, with a gray blanket that made her itch just looking at it. But, all things considered, for a cell in a sheriff's office, it looked pretty inviting. Inviting enough, anyway. Looking back at Longmire, she rubbed at her shoulder underneath her backpack's strap. "When are we going to start the whole 'search' process?" The man shrugged.

"Tomorrow morning. Figure we'd both function a little better with some sleep."

Nodding, she entered the cell, carefully slid her bag under the bed, and sat. The mattress was incredibly thin, and the blanket was just as scratchy as it looked, but she could attest from two weeks of experience that it was much better than the ground.

"Right. Well, I'll lock the door on the way out. Bathroom's across the hall, if you need it." Hands on his hips, he lingered for a moment. "Get some sleep; you'll need it." With a muttered exchange of goodbyes, the sheriff departed, and Neha settled into bed.

* * *

As soon as her head hit the pillow and that scratchy wool blanket was pulled over her body, she was fast asleep. The next morning came very quickly; one moment she had closed her eyes to sleep, the next, she had woken up, and her vision was flooded with the orange light of daytime. Mercifully, the sun couldn't find a way to shine into her cell.

"Was startin' to worry you'd died," chimed a vaguely familiar voice from one of the desks, as she stirred. Neha leaned up on her elbows, looking through the discolored bars of the cell, and the dark veil of loose hair that had fallen around her face. Though her view was fairly obstructed, she could easily make out that brunette pretty-boy from yesterday. Rubbing her eyes, she yawned.

"Was your name… T-… Twig?" she asked, remembering the name was a strange one. This question earned her a cackle from a blonde woman at the opposite desk, who she hadn't seen before. The pretty-boy didn't seem so amused.

"Close. It's Branch. Branch Connally." Peeling herself off of the thin mattress, Neha collected her bag, dragging it behind her lazily as she exited the cell and approached this man named Branch.

"Sorry. Neha. We never properly met." She offered her hand to the man, who seemed quite comfortable, with his designer boot-clad ankles crossed atop the desk, his chair leaned back as he lounged. Breathing out, he dropped his feet to the floor and straightened before shaking her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Neha." He spoke her name like he didn't know how to form it, and stressed the 'N' too much. Rubbing his hand over his jeans, he gestured over to the blonde woman before returning to his previous position. "I don't think you two met last time."

"Nope. Deputy Vic Moretti." Crossing to the side of the desks, Neha shook her hand, as well. "That over there is the Ferg." Following the woman's gesture, she looked to a round man stuck in a corner by the cells. A little bitterly, she recognized him as the man who had pointed out the APB to Sheriff Longmire yesterday.

"Walt's in his office," Branch said, sighing as he locked his hands behind his head. "He wanted you to find him when you woke up. Oh, and… y'might wanna fix your hair a little." He grinned, and went back to his unproductive relaxing. Frowning, Neha pulled her hairband out and spent the walk toward the sheriff's office trying to finger-brush her thick black hair. With a single knock, she opened the door and stepped in. Longmire didn't seem to be doing much of anything, short of staring rather intensely through his window. His hat was missing, along with his jacket; both were hung on a stand behind his chair.

"Are we starting now?" she asked, after a few more moments. Pulled out of his thoughts, the sheriff cleared his throat and straightened up. Nodding, he gestured loosely to the chairs in front of his desk.

"Go ahead and sit, if you want. I don't think this'll take too long." Leaving her backpack on the floor, Neha sat. "Right. So, I've already got your listed name, thanks to the APB." He had pulled out a piece of paper and looked over it now. "And you're looking for a… cousin, right? That you… _don't_ know the name of?" The older man grew noticeably more skeptical as he voiced this, his hard eyes finding a place on the girl across from him once again. Finally, after a few moments of thought, she cracked.

"He's… not my cousin," she admitted, sighing. Slumping down in her seat, she ran her fingers through a knot in her hair. "He's my father. My biological one, that is." This seemed to click things into place for the Sheriff, if the look of clarity on his face was any indication.

"And you said you didn't know his name?" She shook her head.

"My mother never told me. I don't think she wanted me to find him."

Sighing, Walt leaned back in his chair, running a calloused hand through his graying hair. "This'll be difficult without a name." Staring out that window again, he seemed to lose himself in his thoughts for a good few seconds. Finally, he looked back at Neha. "Let's try this: what's your mother's name? Pretty small town, Durant. You get to livin' here your whole life, you come to know just about every name and face in Absaroka County."

Neha fiddled with the black and turquoise beadwork on her bracelet. Briefly, she remembered the girl that had made it for her, seven or so years ago. "Her Christian name is Ivy Langdon. Most know her as Ivy White-Stag." She busied herself by twisting this bracelet around on her wrist, spinning each individual tiny bead. But the silence on the sheriff's end stretched on for so long that she eventually looked up to see what gave. He simply stared at her, a rather distant look on his face.

"What- what's wrong?" she asked, startled. That cold sweat started to prickle under the skin of her forehead once again. Sheriff Longmire, on the other hand, took in a deep breath and stood, collecting his hat.

"Come with me," he said, grabbing his jacket as well. "I think I know where you'll get some answers." With that possibility in mind, she recollected her backpack and followed, cutting through the main room. "Going out, Ruby. Be back in a while." With some perfunctory goodbyes, the pair made their way out, and into the Bronco. Longmire helped her into the tall SUV this time. The vehicle protested a little as the key was turned in the ignition, but they were started up and off on their way in no time, once more left in the silence that stretched around the SUV's loud motor and the cheesy country music on the radio.

"Where are we going?" she asked after a while, her hands nervous clutching the armrests.

"A place called The Red Pony." And that was all there was to say, apparently. Neha felt a strong desire to run again, but they were driving too fast. If she jumped out now, she'd just injure herself and make things harder. So she stayed quiet and still, until they pulled into the parking lot of a small bar, which bore a neon sign of a running horse at its front. "You may be here a while," he warned, turning the SUV off as he exited. She was… skeptical, to say the least, but she climbed out of the vehicle all the same, and together, they walked into the dimly-lit building.

There were a few people scattered around at tables. Men, mostly, wearing plaid pearl-snaps, heavy vests, cowboy hats or some combination of the three. There were a few women, as well, most clustered in groups, with only a few remaining solitary. Nobody was at the bar, save for the tall man who stood behind it. He had short black hair and stood with his back turned, cleaning the counter lining the wall. She could only see part of his face through the large, wall-mounted mirror in front of him.

"Mornin', Henry," Walt called, taking his time walking up to the bar. Though she felt the need to drag a few steps behind, Neha followed dutifully.

"Ah, Walt." The bartender addressed the sheriff before looking at him through the mirror. "Some of the usual?" He had already grabbed a pint glass emblazoned with a bright red 'R'.

"Not today, Henry. I'm here on business." Gesturing with his head, Walt beckoned Neha to catch up.

"That has never stopped you before," Henry quipped, a comfortable half-smile on his face. He grew a bit more serious, however, once his gaze into the mirror landed on Neha. Eyebrows drawing together, he turned to look squarely at the two of them, slinging the cleaning cloth onto his shoulder. "And who might this be?" His tone was more professional now – curious.

"She's listed as Neha Anne Locklear. Says she's Ivy White-Stag's girl." Breathing in, Henry leaned on the bar. His eyebrows were quirked now, a very different sort of look in his eyes. Neha couldn't gauge what it was, exactly.

"I… did not know Ivy had a child. You resemble her." He addressed Neha with a kind smile before he looked back to Walt. "How can I help?"

"She's looking for her father, Henry. A Cheyenne man, it seems, local to Durant. Know anyone who might fit the bill?" Henry's gaze fell on Neha once again, lingering this time.

"There are a few of us here. But… as far as I know, Ivy was only in a relationship with that Daniel Lewis, about twenty years ago. He was white." He had looked briefly toward Walt, but the brunt of his attention stayed on the teenage girl who was fidgeting with her shirt. "How old are you?"

She cleared her throat before speaking, but her nerves got the best of her ability to speak. "S-seventeen." Cringing, Neha turned her eyes elsewhere. But this stuttered declaration seemed to weigh heavily on Henry, and once more, his eyes flickered to the sheriff before settling on the dark wood of the bar.

"This changes things, I suppose." _Changes things_?

"Is… something wrong?" she asked, daring to look up at the two men. Walt appeared rather solemn, but didn't speak a word. The dark-haired man leaning against the bar seemed entirely wrapped up in his own thoughts until, finally, he fixed his dark eyes on her.

"Ivy – your mother and I, we were in a relationship. It was… not a public affair; Walt here was the only one who knew for sure." Sighing, he drummed his fingers against the bar in a rhythm Neha realized was identical to the one she adopted. "She wanted to keep it quiet unless things became serious. We had been together for a year when she broke it off. I could not tell you why she did."

This did come as a surprise. Her mother had rarely ever said much about her past, even when Neha tried to urge the information out of her. Her mother was very secretive, but it was never something she had thought to question. "Do you know what she did after you broke up?" Her nervousness surely still showed through in her shaky speech, but she felt as though she was on the verge of a breakthrough. This was the closest she had ever been to finding out the truth.

"She moved onto the Cheyenne reservation, not too far from here. She did not speak to me much, though I had reached out to her on occasion. I had heard that she was going to get married, and then a couple of months later, she was simply… gone. As far as I know, nobody has heard from her in…" He paused, exhaling. "Well, seventeen years."

The three stayed silent for a while. Business continued as usual around them; men laughed, some music played over the speakers, women chattered loudly at each other. But for Neha, it felt like the world was moving in slow motion. It was only the three of them right now, in her little section of the world. She was so close. _So close_ to figuring it all out. She could feel it.

Licking her lips, she worked up the pluck to speak again. "That man my mother was going to marry. Do you know his name?" She looked between the two men, both several inches taller than herself. "If he was the one who got my mother pregnant—"

"I don't think he was," Walt interjected, cutting her off. He leaned against his arm on the bar. Feeling a bit deflated, Neha's eyebrows knitted together.

"Why? Why is that?"

"I kept hearing about domestic issues, through the grapevine. Fighting. The two of them had some kind of problem, but no-one knew what that was, exactly." The sheriff glanced at Henry, as if for permission, before continuing. "I've got the thought that Ivy was already pregnant when they met."

"It is still considered a shame to have an illegitimate child," Henry added. "It could explain why she left so suddenly." Honestly, this only served to further add to the stress that Neha felt. She hated this beat-around-the-bush nonsense. Couldn't they see how important it was for her to figure this out?

"Are you trying to say I was immaculately conceived?" she asked. Her voice must have reflected her frustration, judging by the looks exchanged by the two older men. "If he wasn't my father, then who was? It has to be _somebody_."

"That is what appears to be the million-dollar question. Unless she was with somebody nobody ever knew about…" Henry's voice trailed off as he sighed, once more. He seemed to be collecting himself. "Bear with me: I think _I_ am your father, Neha." The statement was so decisive and delivered so calmly that it took a few moments to process. And when it did, it hit Neha like a ton of bricks. She just barely managed to make it onto a barstool before her knees gave out.

* * *

 **A/N:** Chapter two, redone. Just as before, I'd like to apologize for the characters being more or less _out_ of character. I need to freshen up on their personalities, but I'm hoping I'll get them down pretty solidly here pretty soon.

Please feel free to review, and let me know how I'm doing. I'm always looking for constructive criticism and feedback, and prompts, if you have them.


	3. Conversation

She was reeling. Reality felt like a distant concept – finding her father now, after all this time, and so accidentally? It's not like she felt an instant bond to the man, but seeing him in the flesh, two feet away from her was as bizarre a feeling as she had ever experienced. The only thing really keeping her steady on that barstool was one of the Sheriff's hands propped up on her shoulder.

"You gonna be alright?" Longmire asked. It took a few beats for Neha's mind to catch up, and realize he was talking to her. She nodded. "Henry – if you want a test, just to make sure,  
I think we can get that arranged." He lifted his hand off of her shoulder, allowing her a moment to steady on her own. "I'll leave you two to talk. See you later, Henry."

"Walt." The two men exchanged a nod, and Longmire left. A few moments passed before anyone spoke again – Henry was the one to break the silence.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Uh – no, thanks; I'm not twenty-one." Despite her efforts, she still wasn't wholly focused. Henry chuckled at this.

"I am aware of that," he said, a wide half-smile on his face. "I was referring to water, or something else non-alcoholic."

She reddened slightly. "Oh. W- yes, water would be nice, thank you." With a nod, Henry collected a bottle from a short fridge and filled a glass from it, then placed that in front of her. Uttering another 'thanks', she took a sip.

"How is your mother? If I may ask." Neha considered that for a few moments.

"She's doing…" She paused a moment, looking for the word. "Okay. She's been married to a Navajo man named Shilah Denetdele – Locklear is his Christian name – since I was about… six months old. They've had three kids since then. Two boys, and a girl – she's the youngest." He nodded, took the cloth off of his shoulder and tossed it under the counter.

"Did you always know he was not your father?"

She shook her head. "I always thought I was just the black sheep, so to speak. An instinct is what told me something was off… he always favored my siblings over me." She shrugged. "I didn't know for sure until my mother told me, two years ago. Took me over a year-and-a-half to find out where you were, because she wouldn't tell me your name." Her fingers absently rubbed at the condensation gathering on the glass as she stared down blankly into the clear water.

"Was he cruel to you?" Henry asked suddenly, after a few moments of silence had stretched on. Her fingers paused their vacuous motions, and for a moment, her brown eyes held contact with Henry's. But then she blinked, and shook her head, looked back into her glass.

"No. Nothing like that. He's a good man and a good father." She took another sip and cleared her throat, ignoring the skeptical expression on Henry's face. "I don't know why she wouldn't have told you she was pregnant. You strike me as a decent man."

"I thank you for that. But I will say, I wish she would have. I think it would have been… interesting to raise my own family." He wore an almost disappointed smile, but Neha didn't miss the skepticism that remained in his eyes. "But, I am afraid I will need to call your mother, if that has not already been done. I have the feeling that your journey here was not sanctioned." She tapped her glass a few times.

"She knows already. Even gave me some money for the trip." Henry's eyebrow raised. Without looking at him, she could sense that he didn't believe her.

"Since you came to me without any knowledge of who your father was – and since I do know who Ivy used to be – I am going to say that you are lying. I do not think she would have sent you off to hunt someone down." She groaned, and dropped her head on the bar.

"You're right." She lifted her head back up, sighing. "Do you have a pen? I'll write down our number." He moved to the counter behind him and grabbed a notepad and pen from a drawer. Neha looked rather grim as she took both and began writing.

"I will never hear the end of this," she said, handing the items back to him.

"I could not blame your parents for being upset," Henry admitted, looking at the number, then back to Neha. "How did you get there, anyway? Do you live in Wyoming?"

"Ah… Arizona, actually. On the Navajo reservation. I walked, for the most part."

"For the most part?"

"Yeah. I, uh… I also hitchhiked." Both of Henry's eyebrows raised this time.

"I hope I do not need to tell you how dangerous that is, especially for a young woman."

"No… I know it was a bad decision. I just wanted some closure."

"I understand," he said, moving over to the telephone mounted on the wall. "Next time, I would suggest finding an alternative means of transportation." He picked up the handset, quickly dialed the number, but paused before putting the phone to his ear. He looked to Neha.

"Perhaps it would go smoother if yours was the first voice they heard. They might assume the worst otherwise."

 _Sound logic,_ Neha thought. She slid off the barstool and came around the other side. She accepted the handset, held it to her ear, and hit 'call'. Henry busied himself, for the moment, tending to the customers and the establishment as a whole, always keeping within earshot.

 _Ring… ring…. ring… click, shuffle._ " _Hello?_ "

The deep voice startled her, and momentarily, her breath caught.

"Shilah? Where's mom?" A few moments pause.

" _Busy. Where in the hell are_ you _?_ "

"I'll – I'll explain la-"

" _No, you'll explain now, or so help me God_ …" He didn't need to finish.

"Wyoming. I'm in Wyoming. Durant, specifically."

" _WYOMING?!_ _What are you doing in- nothing, Ivy, it's no- Ivy!_ " An uncomfortable shuffle blared through the speaker, like cloth repeatedly rubbing against the receiver. Then, a voice.

" _Neha? Are you okay?"_

"Yes, mom. Like I just told Shilah, I'm in Durant." Another pause.

" _What for?_ " Neha breathed in.

"I found Henry."

"… _Oh. Oh, I see. How is he?_ "

"He's right here. Would you like to speak to him?" A long pause. "Mom?"

" _I'm here. No, I shouldn't do that. We need to come pick you up._ " She heard whispering in the background – a disagreement, blown off. " _I will leave today, Neha, and come up there. Wyoming isn't very far to drive. I can be there tomorrow._ "

"You don't need to rush like that. I'm sure I'd be fine here for a few days-"

" _No! I will leave today and I will be there tomorrow. That's all there is to it. Don't you dare go running off again._ " A sigh. " _I love you. Stay safe. I will see you tomorrow." Click_.

* * *

Sadly, this chapter was neither very long nor very inspired. It offers a little Henry - Neha conversation and somewhat introduces her parents, but I promise I'll work a little harder on the chapters to come. Now, I am sort of hoping I'll be able to weave this in with the reality of the TV show, at least a bit - given the AU nature of it, that will be difficult, but I'm all for trying. I'm interested to see how far I can take this fic.

As always, feel free to leave feedback in a review. Suggestions and what have you are not unwelcome, either.


	4. Cady

Neha had made her way back around the bar. Sat down, resumed sipping her glass of water. She turned, eventually, to look over the patrons of this fine establishment. One man – large and bald – seemed to be drinking to forget. Three younger men sat around a table in the corner, daydrinking apparently only because they could, not because they had anything to bury under a drunken haze. A couple of women were gathered at one table, their drinks mostly untouched.

"How did the call go?"

She slowly spun the stool around to face the bar, and Henry, who had just finished tending to the aforementioned patrons. She wore a solemn and disappointed expression.

"My mother has decided that she needs to leave Arizona today, and take me home tomorrow."

"There is no need for that. I would not mind hosting you for a few days while she sorts her schedule out." Neha shook her head.

"There'll be no use trying to convince her. She was… very insistent." She sighed. "Which is a shame. I would've liked to spend a little more time here."

"Perhaps we can arrange something later. But for the time being," he grabbed a set of keys from under the counter, and slid them to her. "I do not think your mother would be happy that I allowed you to hang out in a bar all day. I live just upstairs – the stairs are through that door." He pointed. "You can clean up, if you want. I have a feeling you have not experienced the finer luxuries of life for a while."

Neha picked up the keys. The edge of her mouth twitched. "You trying to say I stink?" Henry did not comment – only smiled, and moved to tend to a customer.

The small apartment was exactly that – small. What could be separated into multiple rooms was compiled all into one - a kitchenette and dining area dominated the area just to the left of the entrance. A full- or queen-size bed sat against the far wall straight ahead, and at the foot of that on the other wall was a desk. If there was a bathroom, Neha had to assume it was stuck in some little nook or cranny.

She toed off her shoes by the door, took a moment to poke around the little home. She flocked first to the books on the shelf – in a neat little pile, and stuck in cubbies, she saw the various works of John Steinbeck, among a couple other authors.

 _Certainly explains the bar's name_ , she thought, finger running down the spine of the topmost book. The cover was faded, but the illustration of the red pony being led by a boy in overalls was still very distinct. Her finger then thrummed down the other titles, making a sort of skipping noise over each – _Cannery Road, Of Mice and Men, East of Eden_ … She stopped when the volume titles turned into things unrelated.

From there, there wasn't much to see that couldn't be observed from her place in the room. Wall decorations, few as they were, were cultural – she recognized this from spending time with a Cheyenne family her mother made friends with during her childhood. There was nothing special about the furniture, either. But she did spot, hidden in a little recess through the kitchenette, a door. Through that, a small – _very small_ – bathroom. Basic, but it'd get the job done.

She fiddled with the shower's knobs a bit before she figure out how to operate it, but once that hot water came rushing out, she was stuck beneath it until the comfortable warmth became prickling ice. She reminded herself to apologize later for taking up all the hot water – for now, she toweled herself off, carefully wringing the water out of her long black hair. She did not realize that she was missing her backpack until she reached for it, assuming it would be sitting on top of the toilet. It was not.

Groaning, she cringed as she pulled on her dirty clothing, the jeans and flannel that hadn't been washed in a little over a week. Itching, Neha made her way back down to the bar.

"Henry, would it be too much trouble if-" She paused, looking up from a strange spot on her shirt as she approached the counter. A woman with a shock of red hair stood across from Henry, her mouth poised to complete a sentence. "I'm – I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. I'll come back."

"No, no, you're fine. I just came by to ask Henry something." The woman and Hemry stared at Neha for a moment – the former spoke up first.

"I'm… sorry. Have we met before? You look awfully familiar." Neha shifted, picking at her jeans.

"Neha Locklear. We haven't met, I don't believe." She walked closer and extended a hand. The woman shook it.

"Cady Longmire. It's nice to meet you." Neha's eyebrows raised.

"Longmire? Any relation to the Sheriff?"

"Cady is Walt's daughter." _Ah._

"So, are you new in town? Just passing through?" Cady asked. Henry had started to say something before a rowdy group at the other end of the bar drew his attention. _It's not even noon yet,_ Neha thought in passing. Her attention went back to Cady.

"New. But, if I can, I'm hoping to stay a while. I've got some… things to settle up with Henry." Cady's expression turned slightly more solemn as she looked over at Henry.

"Is it anything I should be worried about?" Neha shook her head.

"I don't think so. But I think it's Henry's place to tell you what's going on, if he wants to yet. In the meantime, though… do you happen to know where the Sheriff is? I left my backpack in his vehicle."

Cady remained with a curious expression on her face for a moment, but seemed to put her suspicions on the backburner for the moment.

"He should be at the station still. I didn't hear about any cases today. Do you need a ride?"

"If you wouldn't mind." Neha smiled. "I'll wait outside."

* * *

Yet another short chapter, but I felt like I had to come up with something. I know the quality isn't great - I promise my writing isn't as bad as it may seem like this, free of editing and written on the fly. I didn't realize, when I started writing this more for the public, how out of my depth it was. But I'm trying, and I think with time, I'll get something solid established. I appreciated the support I've gotten - as I started out writing this only for my own enjoyment, I went for the oft-unappreciated OC insertion. I normally don't like when people put in their own OCs, but... you know. I think eventually I may get it to a good place.

As always, please review if you want, let me know if you like the story, or hate it, give me feedback... or, hey, if anyone feels like helping me out a little by being my Beta, that'd be fantastic too.


	5. Update

Okaaay. Hello. I've been missing since December, but if anyone is still following this or at all still interested in this being updated, I promise, I'm getting there. I lost my will to write for a while, mostly due to discouragement, but I'm in a bit of a new state of mind. Looking over this story, I feel like there are a lot of things I can do better, and I think the quality will be improving significantly from here on out.

Can't promise any sort of update schedule; all I can promise is that more will be coming (especially if I can remember the plot I had in place, ahaha).

So, if you would, please be patient. I'll be editing my chapters first before I come out with chapter 5 because, in my opinion, my writing is sloppy, rushed, and very much below my usual standards. I was ridiculously strung out trying to get chapters together that they turned out to be very poor quality. So I apologize for the general horridness of it all.

As I know these sorts of chapters are against the rules, I will delete this as soon as I'm ready to upload chapter 5. Last thing I wanna do is get banned when my story is just getting started.

\- Still of the Night


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